The House on Malcolm Street

by Leisha Kelly

Leah

  In the midst of everything, annoyingly persistent thoughts of Josiah kept creeping up on me. He could be giving and kind. Or terribly thoughtless and abrupt. Depending on the circumstance.

  And here at the Kurchers’, I’d seen something else. A scared child looking through his eyes. He’d driven again, despite considerable turmoil. I’d pushed him to it, and I hoped there wouldn’t be resentment to complicate things in front of these children.

  I truly didn’t want a continuing conflict with Josiah, but there seemed no real way to avoid it, as though we’d been set as roadblocks in each other’s paths. At least I could be certain that the sheer volume of need here would keep us both busy. There simply wouldn’t be time for words.

  I was very grateful for that, because I wasn’t sure I’d be any good at controlling my own emotions right now. One of the Kurcher girls was about Ellie’s size, and I grew teary seeing her sick, thinking of my own little girl and missing her badly.

  What would I ever do without her? What if something were to happen to keep us apart? Was she missing me, tearful and afraid? And if so, how could Marigold console her?

  It was hard to concentrate on the tasks at hand as long as my mind was on Eliza, but if I forced my thinking away from her, then it wandered back to the strange vulnerability I’d seen in Josiah, and that was no better.

  At last, a doctor arrived, and I could feel at least a little more ease. Mrs. Kurcher was terribly troubled at first that he’d come, until he told her he’d made an agreement with her son for a pumpkin. It made me smile that the boy would be willing to bargain for his family’s sake, and that this doctor was kindhearted enough to happily accept such payment for his services.

  I was glad when I saw the truck returning down the lane later with much of its burden gone. Surely Josiah and Bobby would be bringing the groceries I’d sorely need to prepare the next meal. But I was still apprehensive. At Marigold’s house I’d seen Josiah storming off or shutting himself away when something upset him. Would he react that way to me here because of the way I’d pushed him? I was afraid he might, and for that reason I made sure to be upstairs when he and Bobby carried the groceries in.

  I soon heard the boy run to speak to his mother. From the energy of his footfalls, I assumed that he must have been pleased with what they had accomplished. I wasn’t sure where Josiah had gone, but I was glad not to have to face him.

  Doctor Flatt confirmed my thought that something besides measles was at work among at least some of the Kurchers. “Could be just a touch of la grippe,” he told me. “There’s a bit of it going around the area. Three or four other families are dealing with measles in the county as well, though I’ve not seen any with a plague of both like this.”

  “Could it be serious?”

  “I don’t think so. They all seem to be coming around all right. I’d expect a great improvement in just a few days. They’ll probably be full of energy and appetite again before you know it. Except perhaps your mother.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed in surprise. “I’m not one of the Kurcher children, sir. I’m a visitor, come to help for a couple of days because they’re sick. But why are you worried for Mrs. Kurcher? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing to fret over. She just needs to know that too much too soon will wear her down weak again. She’ll have to get as much help as she can even after she begins to feel better to make sure she isn’t worn to a frazzle taking care of a household this size. I hope you can stay a while. It’s very kind of you to help.” He glanced out the window and then back at me. “That must have been your husband I met in town with the Kurcher boy and that load of pumpkins then. Are they back yet?”

  “They’re back,” I offered soberly. “But he’s not my husband.”

  “Oh.” He had an odd look on his face.

  I tried to ignore it. “What about Dodie’s spots? They’re not the same as the measles, surely?”

  He shook his head. “It looks like a contact rash more than anything else. Something she got into outside on top of everything else.”

  I suppose there was no reason to be surprised. And at least he didn’t expect anyone to worsen. But la grippe? That was almost the same as influenza, wasn’t it? That plague again? I asked him if I was in danger of becoming sick myself, or carrying the illness with me to others after I left.

  “I don’t think that will happen.” He tried to calm my worries. “This is not like what we saw a couple of years ago. I’m just glad it’s not the dead of winter. Doesn’t seem so virulent in the fall for some reason.”

  Doctor Flatt stayed for several hours, helping me with compresses and taking the time to observe each child long enough to be sure of his diagnosis. I was not the only one who had worried that things might worsen, so he set minds to ease while he was there, and took two pumpkins with him when he left. He’d administered medicine to the patients who needed it most, and since there was very little remaining in the bottle, he promised to return and bring more.

  I guess it was a natural mistake for him to think that Josiah could be my husband. A couple of the Kurcher children had asked me about that too, even though we hadn’t arrived together. It was an embarrassing spot to be in, and I was careful to make sure they knew the truth.

  Some of the children already had improving appetites so I decided a treat of some kind was in order. Some simple cake, not too thick, nor too sweet, might be just the thing.

  Beth Ann asked Bobby and Josiah to dig more potatoes. I thought I’d use some of those to make a nourishing potato soup with some of the milk and butter they’d brought from town. That might be more appealing than the assorted vegetable soup and broth I’d made earlier with scarcely anything to season it.

  For now, soups were an easy way to make a large quantity and to satisfy the varying appetites in the household. Some might be able to take only a bit of broth like earlier in the day. Others were hungry already and anxious for a full, hearty bowlful. Mrs. Kurcher had made sure to put crackers on the grocery list, especially for those whose stomachs were a bit unsettled, and for Dougy, who’d apparently been wanting some for weeks.

  Both the soup and the cake went over better than I’d expected. Especially the cake. I had to limit some of the children and admonish them to eat it slowly, so they’d not tax their stomachs so soon and end up with a bellyache. Apparently, it’d been weeks since they’d had anything of the sort, and it seemed to lift everyone’s spirits.

  I was completely exhausted by nightfall, but I helped Beth Ann get all the younger children cleaned up and tucked in. It was heartening to be asked by more than one if they’d have to spend the whole day in their rooms tomorrow too. Hankering to be moving about was definitely a good sign. Tomorrow might be even more of a wild and chaotic day than this one had been if more of the children were up. But having them so quickly on the mend would be well worth it.

  I hadn’t given much thought to where I might sleep. Beth Ann offered her bed, which she shared with a younger sister, but I accepted instead the pallet on the floor she was going to make for herself.

  I don’t even know where Josiah slept. He’d continued at the harvest work as long as he had daylight. After that, I’d thought he might say something to me about how it had been for him to drive again, but I stayed busy with the children’s needs and he didn’t interrupt. He went outside after claiming a bit of supper, and I didn’t see him come back in.

  I lay for a long time that night, staring up at the chipped paint on the ceiling of the Kurchers’ sitting room. Though I’d had so much trouble praying before, it seemed considerably more possible now. Because I missed Eliza and worried for her, my first feeble prayer was for her. Then I made the simple plea for the Kurchers all to be well.

  My father came to mind. Might he be much improved already? He seemed entirely too stubborn to be sick for long, but there was really no way for me to know. Then I thought of Josiah, maybe sleeping in the barn. I was sure I wasn’t mistaken about the fear I’d seen in him earlier. Yet he’d
not shown any sign of the resentment I’d expected when he got back. He’d been civil, what little I’d seen of him. But he’d seemed to be watching me. A little too much for my comfort’s sake.

  I should have been able to sleep. I felt physically, emotionally drained. But instead, I just stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, piecing this whole day together in my mind, along with all the time I’d spent with Marigold. What if she’d sent me here on purpose to be here when Josiah was here? What if it was her intention to make sure we continued to encounter each other and work together, even though he’d tried so hard to separate himself by moving out of her house?

  Maybe I should ask her why it seemed important to her. And then ask him why he had such a problem with me. Or maybe with John. Or the very idea of someone with a claim of kinship coming to occupy space in Marigold’s home and heart.

  But it didn’t seem right to accuse Marigold without knowing the matter fully. Or to dismiss Josiah’s behavior as simple jealousy. I didn’t know how to analyze either of them in this situation and I wished I could just stop trying.

  Had Josiah really not ridden in a car since his accident? Was it so much fear in him? A way of punishing himself? Or both?

  Only thoughts of Eliza could tear my mind away, and so I came full circle to worry for her again as I lay hoping for a few hours of sleep. Was she lying awake like I was? Thinking of me right now? Scared for me not to be there? I could only try to picture her sleeping peacefully on the cot I’d helped prepare for her beside the window in Marigold’s room. Maybe Marigold had even played some Victrola music for her.

  I could be sure she’d prayed. I could even picture Marigold up and praying still, for all of us here. The image gave me peace, and finally my eyelids grew heavy. With another tiny prayer for my daughter, I drifted off to sleep.

  27

  Josiah

  Leah Breckenridge had begun to haunt me. I’d tried to distance myself. But Marigold finagled ways to make that impossible. And Leah kept finding ways to show herself a better woman than I’d ever expected.

  She could cook. For a crowd. Passable meals with a little of nothing.

  She was definitely a willing worker, helping where there was a need, both here and at Marigold’s house.

  She’d refused my stupid pledge, insisting that she couldn’t make a promise to preclude friendship. Even though I knew she wasn’t interested in being friends.

  And now she’d gone a step further. I’d known this trip would force me out of my self-imposed shunning of automobiles, because I’d have to accept a ride back to Andersonville with Mel and Dotty just to keep my job. But Leah’d made me lay those fetters aside more completely. And that was good. But also terrifying.

  Leah had gotten under my skin, no doubt. What was Marigold trying to accomplish? If I were back at Mr. Abraham’s house, I’d ask him.

  The hay beneath my head was a little scratchy, but all in all, I found the barn loft a comfortable place to keep me away from the crowd in the house. But sleep came hard.

  “You were born to minister,” Marigold had told me once. “Maybe not preach, but who knows? I can see the heart for people about you. I know you want to help when folks are needy. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  A missionary’s story had touched me in church one Sunday, his tales a little too vivid for my injured emotions so soon after coming to Marigold’s. She’d seen the tears I’d tried to hide, and she’d been sure ever since that I was moldable material for the Lord’s work.

  Hauling biscuits and doing field work I supposed I could handle. Plunking money into a missions basket wasn’t hard either. The problem came when she expected something more. Words that made a difference. Closeness with another soul. One-on-one fellowship and touching of hearts.

  Maybe I’d shunned that too. Wisely so. Far worse than driving, the risk of wreckage was very real.

  How did Leah do it? How could she come all the way over here, selflessly serve and give her heart to this family, and seem so downright comfortable at it?

  I found myself wanting to ask her things. Like whether she dreamed of John, and if the grieving ever made her feel like staying in bed and wishing the world away. Was there consolation in having Eliza still with her, or more heartache for the child growing up without a father? I wished I knew how she could seem so poised and sure of herself.

  Barn cats and creatures unnamed lent the night a collection of unfamiliar sounds. I lay listening, wishing the morning would come and tomorrow could speed by quickly. I didn’t think I’d ever get any rest.

  But finally, in the wee hours, I lifted my heart in prayer, and solace began to come.

  Lord, there’s so much I don’t understand. But maybe I just need to rest in your arms like I’m trying to rest in this hay. Not worrying so much about my own understanding, or my own feelings, just leaving things up to you. I promise to try, Lord. Thank you . . .

  28

  Leah

  Morning arrived with the call of a rooster I hadn’t realized they owned. So much awaited my attention already with so many in this household. I was still deeply needed here, but before I’d even made breakfast, I was anxious to leave and get back to my daughter.

  Some of the Kurchers were feeling a little better and some were about the same, but I had difficulty concentrating on any of that. Mrs. Batey wouldn’t be starting out before the afternoon. As I worked at the things that I needed to put my hands to, a nagging worry rode over everything. What if something happened to delay her? What if she couldn’t come at all?

  Finally I thought of an excuse to communicate with the people in Andersonville, just to seek the confirmation I needed. We’d sent apples to the Kurchers weeks ago, and as far as I could tell there was not a one left. Yet there were still plenty in Marigold’s basement. So I persuaded Bobby to run to the neighbor and borrow the use of the telephone to call Mr. Abraham’s house.

  “Tell him I’d like him to please load a basket of apples into Mrs. Batey’s car before she comes,” I instructed. “Surely he’ll be able to tell us if she’s leaving on schedule.”

  “Will he be home on a Sunday morning, ma’am, and not at church?” Bobby questioned.

  “Yes,” I assured him. “He keeps a Saturday Sabbath.”

  I knew the boy did not understand that, but he was trusting and obedient anyway. Maybe for the sake of the apples. But he came back with shocking news.

  “He says Mrs. Batey’s not coming.”

  “What?” My mind raced into a panic.

  “When they found out you was both here, she decided there weren’t no need of her driving when there was already a ride arranged. So they’s figuring you to ride back with Mr. Josiah’s friends. Don’t worry, though. I tol’ him to load the apples in their car if they’ll let him.”

  I’d hoped Marigold and Eliza would ride along with Mrs. Batey again. That way I’d see Eliza so much more quickly. But now I’d be riding back with people I’d probably never met. With Josiah. At least it was better than not having a ride at all.

  I should have had Bobby ask who might be coming to help today so there would be someone after I’d gone. But Mr. Abraham might not have known that yet. And what if Marigold found no one? It was a strange request, to expect someone to drive and tend a sick family they probably didn’t know. I could imagine people asking Marigold if there weren’t anyone closer who could help.

  And maybe there was. I asked Mrs. Kurcher about it, but she couldn’t come up with anyone she thought would be willing, at least that she would be willing to ask. Some from the church down the road had helped them before, but she just couldn’t bear to lean on the same people again.

  “The Lord’ll provide,” she told me. “When he sets you on a path, he’ll make a way. I can’t complain. Look what he’s done for us so far.”

  Amazing words from a woman in her position. Widowed, with such a vast burden of responsibility. I felt small in comparison, complaining the way I’d done, and yet God had provided f
or Eliza and me too.

  I did a lot of thinking about Hilda Kurcher and her enterprise here. Running a farm and raising eighteen children still at home without the help of a husband. Of course, they’d gotten in a bind with all this illness, but she and I talked about how they did things here on a normal basis, and I was impressed. Everybody had their assigned chores. The house and farm work was all carefully scheduled.

  “We’ll be back to that soon enough,” she assured me. “It’s been such a blessing for you to come and help us weather this little storm. Ida’s feeling better already. When she’s back at things again, she’s the house manager as much as I am. And Rafe’s the farm foreman. When those two are outta bed, and then the next, Dodie and Lowell, everything’ll turn a little easier again.”

  I reminded her of what the doctor had said, that she was to maintain her rest even after they all started feeling better, and she promised she would.

  By midafternoon I was so anxious to get back to Eliza that I could hardly function, but I was feeling a very mixed array of emotion. A piece of me was reluctant to leave, especially if I weren’t assured of some additional help here for at least a couple more days. But I could barely wait for my ride to get here. I’d only been here one night and much of two days, but it seemed far longer since I’d held my girl in my arms. Yet despite that, I was apprehensive about the drive home. What would it be like riding with Josiah and his friends?

  To my great relief, Charles and Lydia Casewalter from Marigold’s church drove in and told us they could stay until Monday evening. Shortly after that, an incredibly dusty little Ford came chugging up the lane behind the Casewalters’ truck. Josiah’s friends were here already.

  I collected my things and said good-byes all over the house. Most of the children asked me to come back.

  “I’d like to,” I told them. “When you’re all better and I can bring my daughter to meet you.”

  One of the girls gave me a little cornhusk doll to give to Eliza. “Did you make this?” I asked her.